Unbreakable: A Section 8 Novel (A Section Eight Novel) (17 page)

A
w
eek passed. A week of Avery sleeping for most of the time, thanks to pain pills and Drea’s insistence that she listen to her body, because sleep equaled healing.

The antibiotics that were preventing infection were also not helping in the staying-awake department. She was aware that Gunner rarely left her side, only conceding when Drea and Grace came to check on her. They’d bathe her and change her bandages . . . didn’t make her feel helpless, which she appreciated, even though she was helpless, and more than a little high from the meds.

“Gunner’s mad I won’t let him do this,” she remembered saying.

“Honey, he understands,” Grace reassured her.

“Things are healing well,” Drea told her another time when Avery complained she was itchy.

Now she realized she was wide awake and staring at the ceiling. This was good that she wasn’t in a fog any longer, but she was still tired. And every time she closed her eyes, she saw Landon’s face. Heard his voice. It made her body throb more.

She glanced over at the night table, where Drea had left her pain pills. She’d started reducing them, with Drea’s help, and the two she’d taken earlier that afternoon had obviously worn off. Although she wanted to do it without their help, there was no way.

“No reason to suffer, baby. Take the goddamned pills.” Gunner’s voice, low and rough, still made her tingle, even now. She took that as a good sign.

“Here, let me.” The bed dipped and he came around to her side, fixed the pillows so she was more upright, which actually made the pain lessen. Then he handed her water and pills and watched her take them. “You hungry yet?”

“Not really.”

He produced some crackers that he must’ve brought in with him earlier. “Have a couple—can’t take too much of that shit on an empty stomach.”

“Thanks.” She nibbled on one as he got back into bed next to her. The glow from the TV was enough light, the house was alarmed and no one was getting past Jem or Key or Dare—she knew they’d be taking shifts watching the house tonight.

And obviously, Gunner wasn’t planning on sleeping. “I don’t know if I can do this.”

When the words slipped out, they surprised her. She hadn’t been thinking about S8 or anything like that, just eating the cracker. The pills hadn’t even started taking effect yet, so she couldn’t blame them. And even though what she said could’ve been construed as anything, Gunner knew exactly what she was talking about—she saw it in his eyes.

“Forget it. I don’t mean that,” she said quickly, but Gunner’s gaze held hers, his blue eyes locked on to hers.

“I’m not forgetting anything, Avery. You have every right to say that, to feel that way.”

“I might feel differently tomorrow.”

“No one said you’re not allowed to change your mind.” His voice was gentle, but his eyes held an anger she knew wasn’t directed at her. And he didn’t seem surprised by what she was saying. “We’re all in this together, just like you said.”

“Just because I said it.”

“You know that’s not true—not with this group.”

The pain pills were working, the empty stomach aiding that along. But she continued eating the crackers, mainly because her stomach was growling. “Is everyone okay?”

“Worried about you, but they’re all fine. No signs of anyone or anything suspicious. We’re in a good place. Everyone wants you to take your time and heal.”

She wanted that too, thought she’d want revenge so badly that it would heat through her like a white-hot fury, forcing her out of bed and into planning mode. By now she should’ve been insisting that they find Landon, stop him from ever hurting anyone again, the way she had that first night.

Instead, she was thinking about giving up S8. The fact that she could think about letting Landon take something else from her pissed her off.

•   •   •

“
I have to tell you something, Gunner,” she started, and she looked wary.

“I’m listening.”

“When Landon was attacking me . . . he showed me a folder. He whispered, so you wouldn’t hear. The folder showed a list of times and coordinates that a cargo ship with underage women was leaving Mexico for . . . shit, I don’t know where. Or when. He said it was soon and I couldn’t concentrate, couldn’t see . . .”

He pulled her close, hugged her to his chest as quiet sobs racked her. Gunner hated that Landon tried the same psychological bullshit that he’d used so effectively on him.

He hated that it had worked.

“I should’ve told you earlier,” she murmured when her breathing had calmed down, but she still wasn’t looking at him.

“There’s nothing we could’ve done without more information. And you don’t even know what he was showing you.”

“It was a cargo dispatch. I know what they look like.”

He tugged gently, forced her to look at him. “You’ve let Landon wrap you up in this. You’re not responsible for what the traffickers are doing.”

She shrugged, moved back to the pillow. He ran a hand through his hair. “I know you’re worried about me. But we have to stop keeping secrets. I started that, I realize, but I thought we agreed, secrets will kill us.”

She curled up around the pillow, looking so pretty and so vulnerable. He knew that was all a smokescreen, that underneath it all, Avery had more strength than any of them. She had more of Darius in her than anyone realized, and that in and of itself could be very good . . . and also, very destructive.

Right now he felt like that sense of justice was killing her. “I understand what you’re doing, Avery. I did it myself.”

“When you were with Josie,” she murmured. “That’s why you wanted to go back to Landon.”

Why he’d been pissed that Josie saved him.

He blinked again and realized that he was in goddamned pain, but there was no smoke or chanting. He’d made it through, with barely any memories of what had happened to him. But he had no doubts as to why he’d been beaten and left for dead in the first place.

His only question was why they didn’t finish the job. It wasn’t like Landon to leave things undone. Landon hated sloppy.

“Maybe you should’ve just let me die,” he told her.

“If you mean that, I’ll throw your ass out the door right now.” Her eyes snapped fire and no, he didn’t need this shit from some bossy thing.

“I’ll show myself out.” Would’ve too, if he could get up off the damned bed. His ribs felt like they were in goddamned pieces, and every time he tried to move, fire wrenched through his body.

Her hands were on his shoulders, pressing him down firmly. “Why are you being such an idiot? Most people are grateful to be saved. Or don’t you know that?”

“You have no idea about my life or what I should be grateful for,” he told her. “Where’d you find me?”

“You were near the back door, in the grasses. Petey found you,” she told him. Petey, a bloodhound who’d remained firmly curled at his feet. “You were lucky.”

“Yeah, lucky,” he echoed. Tried to get up from under the heavy quilt. Somehow it was easy enough for the petite woman to push him back down.

“Stay.”

“I’m not the fucking dog.”

“You’re acting like an asshole.”

He stared at the ceiling, trying to piece together what had happened. The last thing he remembered, was Landon telling him that he was done.

The last thing he’d said to Landon was, “If you ask me to come back, I would.”

“Landon brainwashed you,” Avery said now.

“You think that all of th
is is Landon’s fault,” he started. “You want to believe that I’m a victim, dragged in against my will. But that’s only a partial truth. That only applies to this last time, when I went back to Landon to save you and the others.”

“So tell me.”

“And risk having you never look at me the same way again.”

“That could never happen, Gunner. I know who you are. In here.” She pressed a hand to his heart. “And here.” A hand to the side of his head. “Whatever you did that you think was bad, you’ve more than made up for it.”

“Never.” His voice sounded hollow. “I liked working for Landon. Especially at first. He was better than Powell. And I was able to justify what I was doing because we were giving criminals a new life, letting them escape justice. I didn’t see their victims. And I got to blow the shit out of human traffickers. I got to save women and children. I was the good guy, and I told myself that the end justified the means.”

“I think it probably does,” she told him. “That’s why I feel like such shit for not being able to see a damned line of numbers. I went through all that torture for nothing. If I’d been able to get those numbers . . . it would’ve been worth it.”

He knew exactly what she was saying. Didn’t agree, but understood. He didn’t want to tell her, didn’t even want to think about it. But he had to. Talking about it, remembering it was the only way to make sure he wasn’t doomed to repeat the same mistakes.

He’d been so damned young that first time he’d taken down a trafficker. For two years, he’d roamed the goddamned globe, pulling off smaller jobs, helping Landon’s merc for hire, Declan Moore. Dec was a good mentor, was in it for the money and the explosions.

“You’re taking down bad men,” he’d told Gunner.

“And leading others across the border.”

Declan shrugged. “Karma. Give a little, take a little.”

Declan was killed the week before the transfer. Gunner swore to Landon that he was ready, that he wouldn’t fuck anything up.

But he’d fucked up big-time. Gotten the client arrested and nearly gotten himself killed in the process. By the time he’d made it back to Landon’s three weeks later, after hiding out in random safe houses, his name was mud and Landon was furious.

“But he called you back,” she said. “Is that when you tattooed him?”

He went cold. “I never tattooed him.”

“Good.”

“Why’d you think that?”

“I needed something to focus on. He had the tribal sun on his shoulder . . .”

Gunner stood, took two steps back as if someone had physically pushed him. “Was it a new tattoo?”

“No. It was actually faded. Looked like it needed a touch-up. Gunner, you’re so pale—what’s wrong?”

“Landon doesn’t have any tattoos.”

•   •   •

As soon as Avery told him about the sun tattoo, Gunner was up, grabbing for his laptop, pulling up a picture of Landon. “Was this him?”

“Yes, it was him. The guy from that picture’s the guy who hurt me. I’m sure of it,” Avery insisted.

“I believe you.” He got up and called into the living room for Jem, keeping his voice low. He wasn’t ready to let the others in on anything. Not until the three of them dealt with this new information.

“Dude, what’s up?” Jem asked, his voice rough from sleep.

“Come in here.”

Jem did and Gunner motioned for him to close the door. Since he held the small surveillance camera in his hand, he did so. Placed it where they could all see it but remained standing.

“Landon’s brother—any way he could be a twin? Identical twin?” Gunner asked, and Jem froze.

“Fuck me,” he said finally, and Avery covered her mouth with her hand. “You think he’s pretending to be Landon?”

“I think he’s been around, watching me for a lot longer than I realized,” Gunner said grimly. “Drew Landon’s a bastard, but he’s not a liar.”

“The question is, if Donal’s pretending to be Drew . . . where is Drew?” Jem asked.

“Last I saw him was right before you grabbed me in Bali,” Gunner told him. “I saw him hours before. No tattoo. He was heading back to his island.”

“So wait, did Donal order the beating?” Avery asked. “Because . . . would Drew’s guards take orders from Donal?”

“No, they wouldn’t have,” Gunner said, looked slightly sheepish. “I might’ve mouthed off.”

“To four men with weapons? And they say I’m the crazy one,” Jem muttered.

“None of them really talked to me,” Gunner said. “I was the favorite. They all resented the shit out of me, mainly because I could beat the shit out of them.”

“And Donal got kicked off the island when you arrived,” Jem reminded him. “That’s a damned good reason to resent you. You cost him the family fortune.”

“How do you know he didn’t have money of his own? A business of his own?” Gunner asked. And then he froze in place.

“Gun? Shit, Gunner, what the hell?” Jem shook him and Avery was grabbing his hand as he nearly fell over as the memories hit him.

“The sun,” he whispered. “It was him. It was Donal the whole fucking time.”

Jem and Avery just sat next to him patiently as the slices of memory crowded his brain like a fast-moving slide show, all the pieces falling into place like so many clicks.

“He . . . When I found her . . . Shit . . .” He rubbed his forearm. “It was carved into her arm. The tribal sun. I didn’t even . . . Fuck. I guess I assumed maybe she’d been tattooing herself or . . .”

“Or there was so much going on that night, you didn’t even give it a second thought,” Avery told him firmly. “Donal had to have gone back working for Drew. Got pissed that Drew gave you a second chance and made sure Josie paid for it.”

“He also fucked the job up so badly,” Gunner said slowly.

“Ensuring Landon’s being pissed at you. He figured you’d stay away from Drew because of Josie and because of the fuckup,” Jem finished.

“Strange fucking bedfellows,” Jem muttered.

“So we find Drew or Donal or both. And they both go down,” Avery said decisively.

Gunner nodded. “It’s time to bring this to the group.”

T
hey’d been circling one another for the week, not wanting to rile anything up. Gunner refused to leave Avery’s side and, for her sake, peace was kept. That was mainly thanks to Grace, who kept Dare as calm as possible.

“We keep this about Avery for now,” Jem told all of them quietly that first night. Gunner and Dare shook on that.

But now things were coming to a critical point. With Avery resting in the other room with Drea, and the door partially open, the other members of S8 sat at the table and listened to the story Gunner and Jem laid out.

Gunner felt like he was in front of the firing squad—would’ve been, if Jem hadn’t sat next to him, as if ready to defend him.

Crazy, but loyal to a fault. Even when Gunner couldn’t have blamed him if he wasn’t.

So he laid out what happened to Dare, Grace and Key, pausing in places to keep himself together, especially when he spoke about Avery’s attack. “I shouldn’t have left her alone like that. But I’d always been safe there. No one followed us. I don’t know how in the hell Landon knew about that place.”

Dare was struggling with what had happened to Avery. This was his flesh and blood, his responsibility. She’d been brought into this through no fault of her own.

He stared into the man’s eyes now. “Dare, I’m sorry.”

“And you didn’t call us immediately after Avery and Jem brought you back
why
?” Dare demanded. Grace put a hand on his arm, her face drawn tight. Then she got up and left the kitchen, the door swinging behind her.

Dare watched her leave, then stood and faced away from the group. Several long moments later, he sat back down, his eyes red rimmed. “She’ll be okay,” he said firmly.

“She will,” Jem echoed, and Gunner knew they were somehow talking about both Grace and Avery. Key was sitting there silently, staring at his hands.

This group had already seen enough for a thousand lifetimes, and somehow Gunner had caused the worst of it all.

“It’s my fault,” he said hoarsely.

“And it’s mine too.” Dare cut him off before he could say anything else.

“Fuck, Dare. I never thought . . .” He pulled himself together. “I love your sister.”

“I know. She loves you too. But the future of this team . . . fuck, this isn’t going to work. Not with what happened to Avery,” Dare told them all.

“I agree,” Gunner said quietly. Jem sat back in his chair, arms crossed, not meeting anyone’s eyes, but Key . . . Key was staring at all of them, his expression tight.

“You can’t take that away from her,” Key said in a low, forceful
cut this shit
tone. “If that’s the decision she makes, fine. But this is up to her. She
is
the team. Stop treating her like she didn’t know what she was getting into. Give her some goddamned credit.”

“It’s not that easy, Key,” Dare started, but Grace’s voice cut him off. Gunner didn’t know when she’d come back into the room, but it didn’t matter, not when she echoed Key’s sentiments.

“It might not be easy, but it has to be that easy.”

“Avery’s the reason S8 came together. She’s the reason we all pulled together. She’s the goddamned glue of this team, and she dealt with all of our shit and forced us to pull it together,” Jem concurred. “We can’t let her down now.”

“Give her a chance to heal, Gunner.” Grace’s hands were on his shoulders. “Stop blaming yourself. She won’t be able to heal if she knows you’re doing that.”

Gunner knew she was right, but it was so much easier said than done. For a long while, there was silence in the kitchen. Grace went about making coffee quietly, put the first cup down in front of Dare. When she caught his eye, she smiled and Gunner watched the man’s face light up.

Dare smiled at Grace and said, “Avery brought me back from the edge. If it hadn’t been for her, I don’t know what would’ve happened when I met Grace. I was angry. Unpredictable. Living in solitude and she woke me up.” Dare sounded broken.

Grace put her arms around him, stared at Gunner and asked, “How are we going to take Landon down? Because if we have a plan in place to present to Avery, I think she’ll feel less like we’re doing this for her.”

“I have a copy of Landon’s file from the CIA.” Jem left the room and came back just as quickly, placing the CIA confidential folder on the table between them. “It’s mainly about Gunner—James, actually—his jobs from the past six months. I don’t think there’s anything in there that ties him to Landon.”

“Let me look,” Gunner said quietly. He didn’t want to. Knowing he’d done all the things written on paper was bad enough, but to have to revisit them in black and white . . .

For Avery, he would. He sat and opened the file. Pushed his anger back and he read until his eyes blurred, until he’d gone over each and every detail of his missions in living, breathing color. He could still smell the blood, taste the fear of the men he’d taken down. He knew every single reason why he’d done these jobs.

None of that made it right.

“Anything?” Dare asked. He’d been pacing until Grace led him gently to one of the couches. Gunner had been so engrossed he hadn’t realized that they’d all been staring at him. Waiting.

He looked back down at the two pages he’d pulled. They didn’t have much more detail than the others, but they had location points he hadn’t noticed before.

He flipped the page so the others crowding the table could see it. Jem had a map out, pointed to the coordinates. Gunner nodded. “We start here.”

“Where’s that?”

Avery’s voice.

“What the hell is it with women and sneaking up?” Jem demanded. “If we can’t tell Grace or Avery’s coming, maybe it is time we all retired.”

“Or maybe we’re that good,” Grace told him, and Jem snorted.

Gunner had already gotten out of his seat to help Avery. “You shouldn’t be up.”

“You’re all making plans without me,” she said.

“We’re making plans that include you,” Gunner corrected.

“Landon’s mine,” she told them all, and Gunner felt the anger coming off her in waves.

“Why not let us help, Avery? It’s what we do,” Key reminded her.

“And you should’ve called before this,” Dare added, but gently. “Fuck, don’t ever do that again to me, sis.”

Avery smiled at her brother. She was leaning heavily on Gunner and he looked toward Drea, who shrugged and mouthed,
Couldn’t stop
her.

There was too much truth behind that statement.

“We had months to decide. I wasn’t going to pull you all back for this. You had to make your decisions without duress. I couldn’t do to you what we ended up doing unwittingly to Gunner,” Avery told them all.

Dare flinched. It was apparent he felt as guilty as Avery did about that.

“I’m in,” Key said.

“You already know my answer,” Jem added.

“Someone’s got to keep an eye on all of you.” Dare crossed his arms.

“I want you all to know that I’m a better shot than Dare,” Grace told them, breaking the tension.

Dare turned to her in mock frustration. “One time. My hands were acting up.”

Grace took Dare’s hands into hers and rubbed them. “I want to be involved. You have to let me. Even though it might not be by blood, Gunner’s my brother.”

“We’re all family,” Avery said quietly. “And this is what family’s supposed to do for one another.”

“Section 8’s as much about protecting its own as it is about protecting the innocent. We’re all legacies. We all deserve to be a part of this,” Dare said.

“Let’s start thinking of ourselves as lucky to be a part of it instead of cursed,” Jem said, throwing a sideways glance at Key. Gunner was sure he’d eventually find out what that was all about. For now, all he needed to know was that they were bound by pain and pride. They would always know one another’s deepest, darkest secrets, a fact born of necessity. All secrets weren’t uncovered, not yet, but they would need to be put on the table. Because secrets could be used against the team.

•   •   •

A
very looked up when Grace came into the room. Drea had given her another pain pill without Avery having to ask. Now she’d settled back against the pillows, glad she’d forced herself to make the trip into the kitchen. She needed to show them that she was all right. That she would be.

Whether or not she truly felt that way would be her secret for now. Hers and Drea’s and Grace’s, since she knew she couldn’t pull shit on these women.

“Nice job in there,” Grace told her now. She pulled the door closed behind her. “They really needed that.”

“They’re hurting,” Avery said.

“They’re better now that they know you’re still in,” Grace assured her. She sat on the edge of the bed by Avery’s feet. Drea was on the other side, curled up on a pillow, her tattooed arm resting lazily above her head. Avery leaned back against the pillows as the pill began to work. The throbbing pain receded, replaced by a low-level ache she could most definitely handle.

“Do you guys want to be alone?” Drea asked.

Grace shook her head. “You seem to be in as deeply as we are,” she told Drea, before turning her attention back to Avery. “I didn’t know if I should give you these or not.”

For the first time, Avery noticed Grace had something tucked under her arm. She was holding three of the journals that Avery instantly recognized as part of Adele’s set. The woman had liked writing in a certain type of journal, with a certain pen, and she seemed to have never wavered from that. That in and of itself comforted Avery. It had probably comforted Adele too—it was something that never changed in what had to have been a tumultuous existence.

“Why not?”

“These should’ve gone before the others,” Grace admitted.

“I thought there was . . . something missing.” There had been, physically, a full year in which Adele hadn’t written anything. Avery thought a lot about what could’ve happened during that missing year. “I’d hoped she’d fallen in love.”

“She did. But something else happened to her too.” Grace held the journals tight against her body, still unwilling—seemingly unable—to part with them. “I didn’t want to scare you.”

And just then, Avery knew exactly what had happened to Adele. Drea seemed to know too, even though she didn’t know who Adele was. The room stilled and Avery reached out for the journals. Slowly, Grace relinquished them.

Avery put them in her lap, traced the leather bindings with her fingers. “Was she raped on a job?”

“Yes.”

“And the men knew?”

“She only told Darius. A year later,” Grace said.

Drea gave a low whistle under her breath, then said, “Tough broad.”

“She was,” Avery agreed, making a note to let Drea read some of the journals. She didn’t know exactly what the doctor’s deal was, but suspected Jem would, soon enough. The very fact that she’d basically saved Avery’s ass was enough to win her Avery’s devotion.

“I didn’t . . . Dare didn’t tell you because I didn’t want him to. I wasn’t sure I was ever going to tell you what happened to me,” Grace start
ed.

“Grace, no . . .” Avery breathed.

“Dare didn’t tell you everything. He kept a big part of it private. You all knew how bad my time with Rip was, but . . .” She paused. “It was Rip’s men,” she explained. Avery knew Grace’s stepfather—and Gunner’s father—had locked her in the basement rooms of the mansion and tortured her for a year, but she hadn’t thought that he’d be capable of having his own stepdaughter raped. “It happened a lot that year. And it still comes up to bite me in the ass, and I hate it. And I know Landon didn’t rape you, but he still took something from you. I just want you to know, when I say I understand, it’s not just lip service.”

Avery grabbed her hand, squeezed it hard.

“I’m not saying I’m fine. I’d be lying,” Grace continued. “But I needed you to know I’ve been there. I know what you’re feeling. We’re all sticking together, but you and me, we need to rely on each other during the tough times. Because we’ll each have them.”

“Every time I close my eyes,” Avery started, was unable to finish. “It’s nothing compared to what you went through.”

“Do not even go there, my love. What we both went through was horrible.”

“Do you have nightmares?”

“Yes.”

“Gunner does too. But I don’t think they’re all from me. I think . . .”

“Living with Rip is enough to do that to anyone,” Grace whispered.

“I guess we’ve got our very own support group,” Drea said softly.

“Ah, dammit.” Grace took the doctor’s hand in hers. “The Fates have a way of bringing those we need right to our door.”

“Or they have Jem do it,” Drea said, and that got a laugh from all of them. “My ex is abusive, just like my parents. You’d think I’d have learned to avoid the wrong kind of people.”

“I think maybe you’ve finally found the right kind of people,” Grace told her. Avery noticed that she sounded so sure of herself, wondered if Grace’s sixth sense was kicking in something fierce about Drea, or if, like Avery, she just sensed that the doctor needed them.

Either way, it didn’t matter. For the moment, they had one another.